by Joshua Johnston
Some cops have it in them
to beat the shit out of middle schoolers.
Some preachers can’t help but hold
their congregants under the water
an extra beat or two.
Like last night, when the president
was inching toward the moderator
with both hands on his belt buckle.
He kept saying, “Do you want to see it?
I think you want to see it…”
I thought of my grandfather
during his last morning on earth
batting his Wheaties across the living room,
Marty Robbins unspooling
from the Kenwood, skim milk beading
down an icon of Carl Yastrzemski.
If I were to describe to you what I see
outside this window right now
I doubt you’d even believe me.
A Captain D’s marquee
wishing Craig a happy 40th.
A flock of pigeons lifting
a sleeping infant skyward.
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